


If Things had Gone Another Way

by Whenthesnowfalls



Category: Cloud Atlas (2012), Cloud Atlas - All Media Types, Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autumn, Confrontations, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Feels, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Frobisher - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Laughter, M/M, OTP Feels, References to Shakespeare, Romance, Shakespearean Sonnets, Sixsmith, Suicide Attempt, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenthesnowfalls/pseuds/Whenthesnowfalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a small dedication to the amazing Cloud Atlas fandom. Rufus Sixsmith's reactions to Robert Frobisher's attempted suicide and the way they confront each other about it. Feels. Teasing. Feels. Now excuse me as I go lock myself up in my room and cry once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Things had Gone Another Way

If things had gone another way

A stray leaf flutters though the air. For a few seconds, Sixsmith is captivated by the graceful dance, before it settles at a certain Robert Frobisher’s feet. Said man follows his lover’s gaze and casts his eyes to the exact spot where the leaf’s journey comes to an abrupt, shuddering halt.

“Oh Sixsmith,” he sighs with the fatigue of one that has seen too much. “You were always such a sentimental fool. Finding metaphors, parallels where no one else looks for them. Don’t forget that I can read you like a book; you’ll find that any expostulation of denial, at this point, is useless.”

The addressed inwardly curses the other for (once again) having read his fractured thoughts as easily as blinking an eyelid, or having a conversation about the weather.  
“I may be a sentimental fool, Robert, but your actions have been inexcusable. Had I not found you, you wouldn’t be sitting at my side this very moment.”

“Bitterness is a paralytic, you know.”

The park bench feels cold and unwelcome- he isn’t sure how it manages to exude a sense of menace and foreboding, but Sixsmith listens to his fingertips and lifts them gently off the cold surface. As if he had lifted his fingers out of a mirror to another universe. One that hangs under the surface of every river and hides in the shadow of every dusty corner. One where Sixsmith didn’t have to do everything it took to stop his lover from putting an end to his life before the former’s timely intervention. 

“If you think that’ll make me feel any less bitter, then you’re nothing but delusional.”

Robert stiffens visibly. The air is so saturated with tension you could slice it in half with a sword and hear the two halves clatter to the floor.

“I…appreciate it. A lot. That you came. It means more to me than I’d like to admit…”  
The composer toys with a lock of his own hair in an attempt to buy himself more time for a better answer.  
“But in thinking that your action wasn’t downright selfish at best, _you_ are the delusional one.”

Rage.

“…Selfish?”  
His voice is too low not to come across as dangerous.  
“You are obstinate enough to call _me_ selfish?”  
Both look up, and Frobisher notices the darkness in the other man’s eyes. He knows he cannot escape the oncoming storm, no matter how much he tries.  
“Robert, maybe I _am_ selfish. I knew that if you’d taken your life, it would have been no better than if you had shoved a knife though my heart. Perhaps you feel as if I’ve bound you to a wretched existence which you sorely want to escape, and I understand-”

“You understand _nothing_.”

“I-”

“My life is _ruined_ , my name dragged though mud. Is there anything left for me here? Do I have anything left to live for?”

Both shiver as the cold October breeze cuts through the fabric of their clothes. Despite it being only early autumn, the park is desolate and empty. Even so, Sixsmith can see the little children chasing each other close to the water’s edge as they laugh so freely and carelessly. The same goes for the young couples fully in each other’s arms, the sour old women complaining to each other about anything and everything.

The sound of birds drags Sixsmith back to reality. He sighs and hopes Robert doesn’t notice how much he’s trying not to cry. Or punch him.

“You have your family.”

“Which, as even a moron like you can remember, wants nothing more to do with me.”

“You have music…isn’t that everything you live for?”

“Not when nobody recognises your genius and people refuse to listen to the fruits of your labours.”

“That’s not true.”

Robert looks up in surprise, as if split between genuine curiosity and the want to hear himself be praised. For once, all traces of his annoying smirk are gone.

“Oh?”

“Even if all the other people don’t give a damn, you have one person that both recognises your genius and is always willing to listen.”

The sincerity in Sixsmith’s words does not need to be forced.

As the meaning of Sixsmith’s words dawns on him, Robert Frobisher’s mouth turns up into one of those smirks that both endear and thoroughly piss off his significant other.

“You?”  
His laugh is short and harsh; he throws his head back while he runs his fingers through his hair.  
“How is it possible that a man like you can supposedly ‘acknowledge my musical genius’ when you can barely tell a semiquaver from a semibreve and a Chopin prelude from a Mozart symphony?”

Sixsmith’s hands ball into fists. Although he tries desperately to keep his voice steady, it comes out quiet and uneven.

“Mock me for my ignorance all you want, Robert. That doesn’t make any of what I said untrue or any less meaningful. I think I’ll take my leave now.”

With a curt nod and a shaky wave, the scientist begins his agonizing walk back to his dorm. With every step, he tries to convince himself that everything’s been for the best. That it’s none of his business what Frobisher chooses to do with the remainder of his life.  
That even if he could, there would be no way to-

“I’m sorry.”

He spins round to stare in amazement at the man casually lounging on the park bench. A cigarette now protrudes from his mouth. He does not wear the look of one who has attempted to take his life merely hours ago.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, Sixsmith. You may be an oaf, but you’re not deaf. I’m apologizing.

It takes the musician one look at the other man to comprehend that his words haven’t sunken in in the slightest.

“Clean your ears out, because Robert Sylvian Frobisher is about to proffer an apology, one which you’ll never hear coming out of his mouth for as long as you live.”

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

“I understand that I have caused you a considerable degree of concern, and for that, I apologise. Furthermore, I offer my most sincere regrets for disregarding your feelings while at Zedelghem.”

Rufus walks back towards the bench with the proudest smile the sun has ever had the honour of shining on.

“Incredibly remorseful, dear friend, but unfortunately, I still do not understand.”

Frobisher rolls his eyes with a small smile. 

“Are you so intent on making me say it?”

Smile. 

Sigh.

Smile.

Stands up.

“My Dearest, Dearest Sixsmith, shall I compare thee to a rainy English day? For thou art surely more sullen and more cantankerous!”

Rufus blushes and looks away with a little laugh. 

“Though rough winds may shake us to the core, you possess such a hideous visage that you, quite literally, turn others to stone as soon as they look upon your face.”

“I say, Robert!”

“Despite your musical ignorance, your lack of backbone, your tendency to be more of a mother goose rather than a friend, you tether me to the ground. Without you, I would be quite lost…more lost than I’d like to admit.”

Robert smiles sheepishly as soon as Rufus starts to clap slowly.  
He jogs over and slings his arm around Rufus’ shoulder.

“Lastly, I’ll admit that I do have someone to live for. I assume I shall find myself questioning my choice of partner every day for the rest of my life-”

“But you’ll find it’ll be all worth it.”

Exchanged glances carry the weight of all that has been left unsaid.

Then, Sixsmith turns and wraps his other arm around the shorter man.  
Robert’s left shoulder soon becomes damp, but, strangely enough, he doesn’t mind.

“Have you always been such a sentimental old fool?”


End file.
